


it all happened over baked goods

by meaninglessrambles



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Death, Mentions of past drug abuse, Vulgar Language, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessrambles/pseuds/meaninglessrambles
Summary: quirky bakery owner reader meets the fbi's resident (and damaged) genius. set after reid's release from prison.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

_"Fuck!"_

The expletive falls from your lips instinctively, without even a single thought, and your eyes widen as you realize your voice (which was _always_ a little too loud) would easily travel through the recently painted white double doors of the kitchen — which you'd proudly tell anyone that you had installed yourself — and into the seating area which held a handful of customers. 

You'd feel bad, but you were of the belief that nothing complimented good coffee and freshly baked pastries like some vulgarity.

And, besides, you were the embarrassed one. You had every right to list off every curse word you knew _and_ in alphabetical order if you so chose. Hell, as you took in the mess that was now your work space, you felt like a toddler-style tantrum was warranted too. 

Sure, some would say that the sting should be less considering you were hidden in the back and therefore away from anyone unable to resist partaking in a little schadenfreude, but hurt pride was hurt pride.

It was amazing — astounding, really. You had opened _Cuter by The Dozen_ three years ago and you were still making rookie mistakes. 

How many times had you made chocolate chip cookies?

Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. You were an expert, no one — besides maybe Betty Crocker and that was a _hard_ maybe — could make better ones than you. So how did you still manage to fuck up?

You had realized what'd you'd done as soon as you flipped the switch and turned your standing mixer on it's highest setting. You reached out, but it was too late. The all purpose flour you had just added to the wet mixture went everywhere. The table, the floor and the frilly, pink apron you wore because _'I can be fun **and** a badass business woman'_ were covered in the white powder.

The thought of cleaning it up was overwhelming. But, luckily for you, it wasn't something you had to think about for long because the sound of the tinkling bell above the front door grabbed your attention. You had assumed, at first, it was an already served customer leaving. But when you peeked through the windows (just to be safe), your gaze made contact with some tired eyes. You could spot someone in need of caffeine from a mile away. You grinned, instead of sighing like you wanted, and headed out there.

* * *

Your first thought when you saw him was that he was definitely a new customer.

You couldn't remember the face of everyone that ended up in your establishment but this one? Oh, this is one you'd remember. A chiseled jaw was peppered with scruff. Brown eyes, despite still being clouded with sleep, had a certain sparkle to them. He was tall (taller than you thought a human being needed to be), a couple of years older than you and he didn't even blink when you approached him still covered in flour, looking like a walking kitchen accident.

You decided right then and there he was getting a free muffin.

"Good morning, sugar! What can I get for ya?"

You had clearly surprised him and you had to bite back a laugh as his brows knitted together while he mouthed the word _sugar_. 

You were a lot for most people under the best of circumstances. But for a new customer early in the morning? You were overwhelming. So you remained quiet, giving him the chance to look over the menu above the counter that you had painstakingly written out in chalk. It was extensive but it was still only a matter of seconds before he spoke.

"Just a large hot coffee, please. Seven creams, seven sugars."

"Jeez, you want any coffee with that?"

He blinked.

You smiled.

"For here or to go?"

He took a moment to scan the dining area. You were still hours away from the morning rush but there were a spattering of customers here and there. "To go."

You nodded and got to work. First, you surreptitiously packaged up a muffin. Then you grabbed a to go cup. It was silly, but even years later you still took a moment to appreciate them each time you filled an order. It was your design and you were still so proud.

It was just white styrofoam. But printed on it, in pretty turquoise ink, was a smiling cupcake holding a steaming cup of coffee. It was adorable and totally fit the vibes of your bakery.

It didn't take you long to whip up his coffee — made perfectly, of course — and with a smile you slid it across the counter towards him. "Here ya go!"

He went to grab it but stopped when he noticed there was something extra next to it. "I didn't order that."

"I know," you said nonchalantly. "I figured you for an orange cranberry kinda guy. Was I right?"

"One of my favorites. How'd you know?"

You shrugged. "Hey, I've been doing this for awhile and you end up just being able to pick up on things about people. The way they talk or look at you, their body language. Some people are sweet, others are... salty. I think you're sweet." Your assumptions weren't _always_ right, but you didn't strike out often. "Plus, I think there was like a nano-second there where you looked at it twice on the menu before you ordered." 

"You're very perceptive." He handed you a ten. "Keep the change."

"Enjoy!"

He turned to leave, but paused to look back at you as he held his cup up in salutations before walking towards the exit.

"Have a good day," you called after him. You didn't move, instead standing at the counter, watching his retreating figure until he was out of view. 

Maybe, you thought, today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spencer and the reader get to know each other better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to take a second to thank everyone for the wonderful response to the first chapter! you made my cold, little heart swell with joy. also, apologies if this is kind of all over the place. i don't normally write like this but i wanted to lay out a little more background before we get into the nitty-gritty.

It was on his third visit that he introduced himself to you.

Or, more accurately, you had convinced him to.

You knew all of your regulars by name, you had told him. And he was practically one by now! After all, he'd come often enough for you to memorize his order — although you'd find it hard to forget anything about the man — and had it waiting for him (just with a cinnamon crunch muffin this time) after you had spotted him in the parking lot. It only made sense.

You could tell by the look on his face that your logic was lost on him but he decided to humor you anyway. "Spencer Reid."

 _Spencer Reid_.

It was a good name. Such a good name.

"Y/N." You said, holding out your hand.

He stared at it and you began to panic. Was there something wrong? You looked down and realized the food coloring that normally stained your hands was gone and you hadn't worked with melted chocolate that day so that wasn't smeared all over you. So, what _was_ the problem?

You were a very affectionate person, so, in your mind, there was nothing wrong with something as innocuous as a handshake. It's not like you had tried to make out with him (yet).

You were just about to pull away when he reached out and shook your hand. His grip was firm, but his touch was soft. His name wasn't the only good thing about him.

The simple act made you bust out in your biggest grin yet and he — tentatively — smiled back.

"Oh, Spence—" That was just like you. You just get to know the guy's name and you were already busting out nicknames. "I tried out this new cookie recipe, I need your opinion." You made him promise not to run off before you spun on your heels, practically skipping to the kitchen to grab the samples.

* * *

It’s a few weeks later when you ask, "Are you cheating on me with another bakery?"

"What?!" He sputtered, causing coffee to splash on the table after he roughly put his mug down. 

Spencer had good timing. He had skipped the morning rush — with a line going almost out the door, coffee and pastries _literally_ everywhere and prime seating being hard to come by, it had been chaos. Pure and utter chaos, all before ten thirty in the morning. He missed that, but was just in time for the afternoon lull.

Normally you'd be catching up on dishes or wiping something down — seriously, how did every single surface get dirty? — but couldn't resist just sitting down and socializing. You deserved a break.

"I _said_ ," you began, although you knew he had heard you the first time, "Are you cheating on me with another bakery? Before today, I hadn’t seen you in ages." It was a silly question, you knew that. And yet you were only half joking. 

Spencer laughed. It was the first time you'd heard him do that and you hoped it wouldn't be the last. "I travel a lot for work, Y/N." His hands were still gripping the cup and you realized you were staring at them. You quickly raised your gaze to meet his. "On the road, I've been known to settle for some Starbucks, but when I'm in town I am a loyal customer."

"Ooh," you cooed, leaning forward so your elbows were resting on the table. "You travel for work?" You were interested in hearing about life outside a kitchen. You'd gone from waitress, to struggling culinary student and, as your final form, business owner. Food is all you knew and that certainly didn't include business trips. "What do you do?"

You had figured he had a fancy job; always assuming he was a lawyer or some kind of corporate big-wig. Not only because he looked important — every time you saw him he was impeccably dressed and you just _knew_ his clothes were expensive — but because he frequently overpaid.

 _It's a tip_ , he'd say when you tried to protest.

None of your other customers did that.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and theories that, if you weren't as astute as you were, you would have missed the way he stiffened at the question and averted his gaze, moving from your visage to focus on something over your head. 

"Nothing, I promise, like what I can tell you're thinking."

* * *

You were in deep. You didn't know when or how it happened, but it did. Spencer Reid was becoming more than _just_ a customer.

You had already known he was one of your favorite regulars.

With each trip to the shop, he had opened up to you a little more. You still didn't know what cool job he had (although you did hear about his co-workers on occasion and that Garcia seemed like a hoot) that required so much travel, but you knew he was from Las Vegas. You knew he was ridiculously smart — the man had three P.H.D's and something called an eidetic memory — and he actually liked Star Trek. 

_There aren't as many scientific errors as you'd think given how old the show is_ , he had practically gushed mid-rant.

He didn't mind hearing you ramble about whatever new recipe you tried and the varying degrees of success you had. He didn't huff and puff or roll his (pretty) eyes when you started talking about the trashy reality TV you were embarrassed to admit you watched. There was no judgement, although he couldn’t believe you knew every single 90 Day Fiancé cast member but hadn’t seen one Star Wars movie.

But it was more than that, more than just familiarity and enjoying his company, and the realization struck after a particularly long day. 

It had started out rough and only seemed to get worse as the hours passed by. First, you had hired a part-time employee. You had been a one woman show since the bakery opened it's doors but you thought it was time bring someone else into the ranks. Your life revolved around the shop. You slept, ate, breathed it. And, while you found the concept of _normal_ boring and, frankly, out of your reach, you knew it — at the very least — wasn't healthy. Help would be nice. And it would have been... if they had shown up. You were ghosted by your very first employee. Story of your life.

Then an unruly customer, one of the awful ones who wants to take their bad day out on anyone in the service industry, wanted to yell at you about the lack of seating. As if you had any control over that. What, in the middle of a rush were you supposed to kick out _other_ paying customers? Please.

The worst part was, while you were going back and forth with her, you burned a batch of blueberry scones. That was just too far and you began pondering the legality of banning people and the ways you could enforce it. Could bakeries have bouncers?

The last thing you had wanted after all of that was to see a figure approach the door ten minutes before closing. You were kicking yourself for not locking up sooner when you realized who it was.

"Sugar!" Your favorite pet name was now reserved solely for Spencer and you alternated frequently between that and his actual name. He got flustered every time you used and it always made you laugh.

"I was just about to start cl—" You stopped when you took in his appearance.

His tie was undone, resting haphazardly around his neck. The usual button up he wore — this one in in a nice shade of plum — was wrinkled and the top buttons undone. Spencer hadn't shaved and the dark circles under his eyes were concerning.

"Business trip?" 

He nodded. "Just got back, needed coffee."

The fact that Spencer had just stepped off of a plane and his first stop was you — or, well, your bakery — damn near made you emotional. It wasn't personal, you knew. It was all about the caffeine but he still had other options. He could have gone home or hit up any fast-food chain for a cup of coffee which, while gross, would do the trick. But instead he came here. He came to _Cuter By the Doze_ n.

You were a big ol' softie, but even you were surprised by your initial response to the news. It was safer to slip behind the counter instead of comment on it. "Have you eaten today?" His answer — a quick shake of the head — made you frown. While you waited for a fresh pot to brew, you grabbed a chocolate croissant and put it on a plate. "I know, it's not very nutritious but it'll do the trick 'til you can get a real meal in you."

You watched him grab the pastry and take it to his normal spot — the corner booth. You waited until he was seated before you reached below the counter and grabbed one of your bigger to-go boxes. You started packing cookies, cinnamon rolls, muffins and any other goodie you could get your hands on until the box was full. Once the coffee had percolated, you grabbed a mug and the package of sweets.

"What is that?" Spencer asked when you approached him, happily taking the cup of joe.

"Some pastries," you answered. "On the house." He opened his mouth to protest but you waved him off. "Please don't start, Spencer. I don't sell day old goods here; anything left over at closing is given away anyway." You usually donated leftovers to a local soup kitchen or gave them to friends. "And I just figured you could use them. Maybe bring them into work? If you're anything to go by, your co-workers could use a pick-me-up too."

"I hope you realize I'm paying for them regardless," he insisted as you sat down across from him. 

You didn't argue with him because you knew he wouldn't pay a dime. How could he when you'd refuse his money? So, instead, you allowed the two of you to fall into a comfortable silence. You hadn't even realized while doing so that you were staring at him until you said, "You really do look rough."

"Thanks," said Spencer, bringing the mug up to his lips. "It was just a really tough... week. Work had me preoccupied and I barely slept."

"I'm here if you want to talk about it."

"I know." The way he said those two words made you feel like he really believed it too. "But, if it's alright with you, I'd just rather not talk." 

You nodded and just like that, it was quiet again.

You didn't know how long you had been sitting there but when Spencer broke the serenity, you were surprised. "Come here, look!" His eyes were wide and he was smiling. "The sun is starting to go down."

At his urging, you stood and squeezed into the booth beside him. 

It was then, as you sat shoulder-to-shoulder hours after you should have been closed, watching the sunset through bakery windows that it hit you.

You were _really_ fucking fond of Spencer Reid.

* * *


End file.
